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46 whole there spread a hideously offensive stench. That exasperated the sergeant who struck the flat end of the butt of his musket.

"Come on," he shouted, "come on, you old sloven, tell us where your wood is," and he rudely shook the old man who tottered and almost struck his head against the andiron of the fireplace.

"I ain't got no wood," the poor man simply repeated.

"Ah! you are getting stubborn! . . . You have no wood you say! Well, look here, you have chairs, a buffet, a table, a bed . . . if you don't tell me where your wood is I'll burn it all up."

The old man did not protest. Shaking his aged white head he again repeated:

"I ain't got no wood."

I wanted to intercede and muttered a few words; but the sergeant did not let me finish. He took me in from head to foot with a look of contempt.

"What are you doing around here, you errand simp you? Who gave you permission to leave the ranks, you dirty, snotty-nosed trash? Come on, face about double step, march!. . . Ta ra ta ta ra, ta ta ra! . . ."

Then he gave the command. In a few minutes the chairs, the tables, the buffet, the bed were dashed to pieces. The kindly man raised himself with some effort, went into the farthest corner of the room; and while the fire was being made, while the sergeant, whose cloak and trousers were steaming, was warming himself laughingly in front of the crackling fire, the old man was watching the burning of his last piece of furniture with eyes of a stoic, and never stopped repeating obstinately:

"I ain't got no wood."

I went back to the station. The general had come out of the telegraph office more excited and flushed and angry than ever. He jabbered out something and